Why Do We Call This Friday "Good?"

Why is it exactly that we call this Friday good? If you run through in your mind the course of the day’s events there is nothing in this day – two thousand years ago – to remotely refer to this day as a good day. It begins the evening before as Jesus shares his last meal with his apostles and tells them that his body will be broken and his blood shed. He is betrayed by one of his disciples who has walked closely with him throughout his short, three-year ministry. And for what? For power, prestige, for fame? No, for money. For thirty pieces of silver and lasting infamy.

He is taken into custody not by the Romans, at first, but by his own people – the Jews. They have been the ones most threatened by his ministry. Put yourself in their shoes. They have worked out a nice arrangement with the Romans – the Romans receive their tribute money and in return the Jewish temple authorities and king remain in power. It’s a sweet deal. Except for one, small thing. Jesus has promised those who would listen to him that they no longer need to go through power or the temple to know and serve God. In fact, they may know God as “Abba, Father.” Papa.

Well, that’s not going to work in the nice, sweet, deal that the Jews and the Romans have worked out. Because everything hinges on the people living in dependency on the temple and the priests and the political power of their day. That very last thing that anyone would want would be actual "freedom."

Why is it exactly that we call this Friday good? Those same Jewish authorities arrest the trouble-maker Jesus and bring him before their own rigged court. And in that court, what happens is perfectly predictable –they find Jesus guilty. Oh they trump up some charges against him because they realize that they really have nothing to hold him on. They quote back to him some of the things that Jesus talked about in his ministry – out of context, of course. But that doesn’t matter; they’re the ones asking the questions. And then they wait for Jesus’ reply knowing that anything he says will be something they can jump on – “See we told you all along he was a blasphemer, a bandit, and a rebel.”

But Jesus is mostly silent. There’s no arguing with power in power’s court.

Jesus is handed over to from the religious leaders to the Roman governor – Pilate. Pilate had been given the ominous task of preventing Jewish revolt and maintaining order in their capital city. He answered to Caesar in Rome. He, too, had lines of power that must be followed and structures that must be kept in place. Order must be maintained for the sake of empire. But he saw this man as no threat to Roman power. You can almost hear the sneer as he asks Jesus, “Are you the king of the Jews?” “You have said so,” is Jesus’s only reply. Jesus is mostly silent, because you see there’s no arguing with power in power’s court.

Pilate can’t be bothered and determines that this is a Jewish matter. Let their political puppet Herod decide this case. It really is a Jewish matter, after all. Let the consequence rest in Jewish hands – this man is no threat to Rome.

Herod – not even a Jew but an Idumean - had been installed by Rome to keep peace in volatile Judea and make sure the tribute continued to flow. But Herod was intrigued by Jesus. He had been informed of what Jesus had done. The miracles. The healings. The teachings. And he was hoping that maybe Jesus would do some of that for him. But before Herod – the shadow of power – Jesus is silent.

It’s against the backdrop of religious authority and political power that Jesus remains deathly silent. What was it inside of the hearts of those seated on the Jewish council that prevented them from seeing the very presence of God in Jesus? What was it inside the heart of Pilate or Herod that prevented them from recognizing someone who could bring real justice and kingly leadership to the people? What was it inside of the hearts of the Sanhedrin, or Pilate, or Herod, that needed to hold so tightly to their power, their version, their authority, their control, their structure in the face of one who was in fact, the Life-Bringer? Of what, or of whom were they so afraid?

Do we miss the Life-Bringer when he stands before us? Do we become blinded by our own need to protect what we have that when real life is offered to us, our eyes are pressed shut and our hands clasped tightly over our hears?

You know the rest of the story. Jesus was crucified shamefully on the cross on a hill outside of Jerusalem for all to see – this is what happens to those who try to thwart the system. This is what happens to those who offer the promise of real freedom to those who dare to dream that they may one day be free.

It would be a sad story, repeated so often throughout history if it ended there. Freedom fighters dying for their ideals against earthly and spiritual forces of oppression and greed. We resonate with the story of the freedom fighter because something deep down inside of us desires real freedom. We quietly recognize the places where we have given up hope or given in and said “well, that just how things are.” “That’s life in the real world.” “Better just to get used to it.” And we say these things as our spirits sink and we become further dulled.

It would be a sad story were it not for what happens on the third day. Because it’s there, on that day, that the lie is exposed that it always has to be like this. There, on that day the promise is fulfilled. God reigns, his power prevails over the powers of darkness and oppression. And we get to be part of that victory. We have tasted it. We live in it. We rise to new life in it. And it’s in the victory that we look upon any mere earthly power and ask “would you presume to have power over us when we stand in the presence of the Risen King?” It’s in that victory that we have been released to real freedom.

And so it is that a Friday otherwise destined for darkness and misery can be seen through the light of the victory as Good. We call this Friday good because it was power’s last stand against the victory that Jesus would bring. For ever since then, all exercise of power or influence whether it be earthly, spiritual, or emotional has been weighed and judged against the victory of the cross.